


The Seduction of Melkor

by Morgause1



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Begging, Blood, Blood Magic, Canon Divergent, D/s, Dirty Talk, Elves!, First Time, M&M are two awkward virgins, M/M, Magic Jewelry, Mairon is an efficient jerk, Mairon's a voyeur, Master/Servant, Melkor does QA testing, Melkor is a jerk, Melkor's daddy issues, Pining, Porn, Rat and Vole kink-shame Mairon, Rat&Vole, Seduction, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Smut, Teacher/Student, Teasing, Utumno, Utumnobang, Vala/maia, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Yearning, angbang, gold smithing, mentions snakes, sorry professor, Ósanwe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-09-24 16:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17104079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgause1/pseuds/Morgause1
Summary: "Go on, silver-tongue. Seduce me."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lairenuriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lairenuriel/gifts).



> This is a pre-holiday gift for Lairenuriel! Happy holidays, love! May everything be exactly as you want it in the upcoming year. :-)

Melkor put down the scroll to look at his Lieutenant, standing at attention before him. It was a lengthy account of the new-found creatures that huddled on the shores of some obscure lake, to the south and east of Utumno. It was obvious that those things, naming themselves after Melkor’s sister’s ugly creations, were indeed the long-awaited Children of Ilúvatar. Usurpers, Melkor couldn’t help but think bitterly. As if his father needed any more children.

The report contained everything he needed to know about them: their ways, their language, what they fed on, how they reproduced. Mairon did a very good job of walking unseen in their midst, watching and learning. He even brought back a few live specimens to experiment on.

The more Melkor read, the heavier the stone in his chest grew.

“This is rather impressive, Lieutenant.”

Firelight glittered on Mairon’s polished leather armor as he bowed – a minimalistic, military gesture, all hard lines and cruel severity. His hair betrayed that ascetic façade, though, spilling over his shoulder in soft waves of rose gold.

Mairon was still quite unused to being in such close proximity to a Lord Vala: in Almaren, he spent the majority of his time alone or among the hosts of the Maiar, avoiding his meddlesome master – and that was only Aulë: a very puissant spirit indeed, but nothing at all compared to the might and magnificence of his new owner. Here there were different expectations of him and he could no longer hide in the fires of his forge. Ever since he began his slow ascent from mere craftsman to the position of First Lieutenant, which brought him ever closer to Melkor, Mairon had to learn how not to waver and flicker out under the gravity-well intensity of a Vala’s attention. Even now, as he stood before him in his study, nothing between them but a heavy desk, Mairon had to remind himself that these one-on-one meetings served an important purpose – passing information, discussing strategies, receiving commands – and that he had to keep his mind clear and his will sound if he wanted to retain his head. Aulë could sometimes rumble when vexed, but Melkor would downright detonate.

He was doing well enough, he thought. Most of the time. This time, though, something felt wrong: the meeting started on a very positive note, but now Mairon’s instincts told him that something else crept into the shadows of Lord Melkor’s voice. Whatever it was, it wanted blood.

Did he anger him? Mairon racked his brains but nothing came up. Perhaps it was his fána, acting up again. It would throw these weird, unwanted responses, and always just when his Lord was around! Mairon was extremely embarrassed before he managed to smother them, luckily before the Master noticed. Maybe he needs to tighten his control of his raiment again.

“I live to satisfy, my Lord,” he answered, glad that his voice remained level. A safe choice. Propriety demanded that a Maia lowered their gaze when addressing a Vala, so at least he needn’t worry that his eyes might offend. A glimmer caught his attention – long, strong fingers, wrapped around a golden goblet.

A chuckle. “Indeed.”

Was that a question? Mairon began to respond when Melkor rose from his seat.

Unlike Mairon, the King of Arda was dressed casually, no more than a long, flowing skirt of deepest black velvet that swished about his hips when he rounded the desk to lean on it, breaking whatever illusion of protection the table provided. He wore a necklace Mairon had made for him: two dragons in the midst of battle, claws and fangs clashing to create intricate filigree. Their emerald eyes sparkled as if they were alive, drawing Mairon’s eyes to the broadness of his chest.

 _Delicate violence_ , he thought. _How easy it is to capture danger in gold_.

“Here, have a drink.” Melkor handed him the goblet, fingers brushing against his palm. A tremor passed through Mairon’s hand as he lifted the goblet to his lips. The warm, scented red wine that still retained the touch of the Lord’s mouth did nothing to alleviate his tension. He was acutely aware of the Vala’s regard focused on him, scrutinizing him.

Looking for faults.

The silence stretched uncomfortably, until –

“You have been avoiding me since you came back.”

“Avoiding you, Master?” it seemed that a fault was found at last. “Allow me to assure you I had no such intention!”

“No? Why then do you seem to ever be slinking away from my side… even now you are hiding your eyes from me! Have those creatures charmed you the way they have my siblings? Should I question your loyalty?”

“No, my Liege! Never!” the very thought was appalling – the fetters that Bound Mairon’s soul to Melkor were incredibly strong. Mairon never imagined such a Bond was even possible when he was still Aulë’s. He could not steer away from Melkor even if he tried. So what if he were uncomfortable being around his Vala, who wasn’t? Lord Melkor had a deep streak of cruelty in his soul and the stability of a volcano. Just being physically close to him made Mairon’s whole fána sweat and tremble. The fact that this feeling actually intensified over the years instead of subsiding was worrisome, but not unwarranted.

And now it seemed that the volcano was awakening, catastrophe looming ahead: Mairon’s already elevated heart rate became a full-fledged hammering. Sweat beaded on his forehead, smelling both of fear and disgust. Summoning all his courage, he looked straight at the Vala. “My Lord, I am completely and entirely yours. I would never – ”

The Master’s eyes were twin, frozen lakes in a forest of black lashes: devastatingly cold, stubbornly refusing to reflect the stars.

So was his voice when he cut him off. “Drink.”

Mairon took a sip.

“More. Finish all of it.”

Mairon extended a shaking arm to place the empty goblet on the desk, passing a hair’s breadth away from the looming figure of his master. There must have been something in the wine, he thought, for his head spun and his face was much warmer than it was supposed to be. A sigh escaped him when Melkor suddenly leaned forward. Close. Too close. He could feel his breath on his cheek, his presence piercing his mind.

He was reading him like an open book.

“Now I understand. I might have read it between the lines of your much too elaborate account… They did charm you, but not in the way one would expect.” Melkor smiled, sharp and brilliant as a knife. “You want to have sex just like the Elves do, don’t you, Maia? And you want to have it… with me.”

Mairon choked. He stood blinking stupidly for a few moments. “Yes,” he finally managed to whisper.

_(I’m an animal, a filthy animal, the Lord would only mock me –)_

“And why would I fuck you?”

“My Lord, I would never dare to presume…”

“Oh, he would never dare to _presume_.” Melkor drawled, sarcastically accentuating the word. “Really, Lieutenant. You’re given an opportunity to convince me to give you what you want. Where is that sharp will I set to command my forces? Go on, silver-tongue,” his voice softened, assuming the treacherous mellowness of quicksand. “Seduce me.”

 _Seduce his god_? His wine-addled mind frantically tried to digest the concept, wheels spinning and hammers beating an erratic rhythm. That was blasphemy: Ainur were spirits; carnal acts were not meant for them. It was shameful, not to say forbidden by the One, to try to engage in them. And what did he know of sex? Sure, he watched the Elves do it. He spent quite an embarrassing amount of time watching them, too, but it was all in the name of science! Although in truth, the thoughts that crept into his mind as he watched were… not particularly scientific. But to try and court the He Who Arises in Might like the Elves courted each other?! Preposterous. No, that was impossible. Well, technically, the fánar they wore were similar enough in design and function to the Children’s hröar so it was sort of possible, but if he failed, which he is bound to do…  

And then horror dawned upon him. “Like, you mean right now?”

“Obviously.”

 _Oh, no_.

There was only one option left for him. “My Lord,” he said. “Might I be permitted some time to think, and to plan? This is... a great honor for me, and I must see to it that you have nothing but the very best, as always.”

Mairon peeked hopefully at the Vala, but his hope was doused immediately.

“No.”

 “Perhaps just an hour…”

“Who said I’d still want you to do it by then?”

That was true. The Vala was fickle, prone to change his mind – and likings – as quickly as one could draw breath. Mairon was dumbfounded. He could feel the Master’s growing disappointment in him. It stung, but still no words came.

Melkor huffed and made to return to his seat.

“You’re such a bore, Mairon. You make me begin to question my decision to appoint you to Lieutenant. I don’t need a second-in-command who runs away when confronted with an unknown situation. Perhaps I was wrong when I thought you’d be – “

Mairon reached suddenly and took his hand. Slowly, reverently, he brought his master’s hand to his lips. Melkor stopped mid-sentence, curiosity returning to his features when the fire-Maia’s hot breath shook on his fingers, warming them.

Mairon’s lips burned at the contact. He inhaled deeply. The smell was divine. Another kiss and his tongue was brought back to life.

“My Lord, you are the great Seducer,” he opened. “Yours are the powers of honeyed speech and of fathoming whatever deep and dark desires lurk in the minds of your inferiors, harnessing them to your will. I am just a forge-Maia. I cannot hope to sway the mind of the mightiest of the dwellers of Arda by mere words – not even by my Music. But if I am allowed – oh, if you’d but let me – I would show you what I _can_ do. Am I not renowned for my handiwork? Was I not considered the first among the host of the Craftsman when you saved me? I am good with my hands, Lord. I understand the qualities of Matter, how it works, how it responds to different kinds of stimuli.” his voice deepened, colored by a flash of hunger that fled past his defenses. “How it should be touched.”

Melkor considered this, sat down on the edge of the desk. “And how should it be touched, then?”

“It depends,” somewhat emboldened, Mairon let go of his hand and inched closer. His fingers ghosted over Melkor’s hair, his face, his neck, yearning but still too afraid to touch. “Bronze does not Sing the way iron does, and plain rock flows so differently than the gems buried within it. Each requires a different approach. If allowed to work on your holy fána, Master, I would use the warmth of bodies in friction to temper it into most excellent hardness. No forceful shaping could ever work with you – instead I would submit, and let our very Nature reign supreme. But just so much can be done with mere corporeal friction… for you, Master, I would unravel completely, destroy myself without any restrain so that I may pour out the liquid _hellfire_ of my need for you… yes, I confess! I confess!”

Mairon was a tough, uptight, and willful little creature. But now it seemed as if his shell cracked and heat gushed out with his words. There it was – the fragile, naked sincerity in his voice, the true Maiarin submissiveness. This was what Melkor wanted to taste. And he wanted more.

“Strip,” he whispered.

Mairon obeyed. He removed his armor, and then slid the red and black silk he wore underneath over his skin with maddening slowness. At last he stood naked before him. He flared his beauty with a Note and Melkor inhaled with delight.

“I would ply you with worship, drag my lips all over your magnificence, and my hot tongue would sing prayers against each and every tender, intimate bit of flesh. I could make pleasure flow like metal, Master,” Mairon’s schooled voice was gone – the creature before him hissed like a furnace. His desires dripped uncontrollably and swirled around the room, casting wild half-images of them touching each other like he saw the Elves do. “I could melt the cores of your pleasure with my fires and let it well up in you, until it overflows and spills to scorch a path down my skin as I drown in your service, marking me… my Lord…”

Standing on his tiptoes and stretching as far as he could, Mairon wrapped his arms around Melkor’s neck and kissed him on the lips.

There was a moment of confusion, but then Melkor grabbed a fistful of his silken hair and kissed him back.

( _That was happening. Oh, Eru, that was happening_ )

“Good,” Melkor laughed against his panting lips. “Good!”

“Please, Master, please allow me to touch you. Let me suck you. I’ll do anything you want, anything, I beg…” Mairon’s face was flushed. His hair hung in steaming veils about his face, caressing Melkor as the Maia strove to press their mouths together again. He was hard under his hands, covered in a sheen of sweat: a beautiful creature cast of bronze and shadow. His eyes blazed in the half light.

Good!

“Not perfect yet, but there’s definitely potential here. Don’t worry,” Melkor smiled brightly, releasing him with a pat on the head and returning to his seat, ignoring his servant’s helpless little moan. “I’ll teach you. Soon enough, not one of those fleshy bastards would be able to refuse you, and then I’ll have them!”

What… what happened? Mairon remained standing, dazed and dumbfounded, as Melkor picked up the scroll and resumed reading.

When Melkor lifted his gaze again, he seemed genuinely surprised to see his Lieutenant.  

“What are you still doing here? You’re dismissed.”

Mairon swallowed, bowed. “May I… get dressed first?”

Melkor didn’t answer, already immersed back in the scroll.

 

Roused out of his reverie by the sound of the chamber door closing, Melkor allowed himself a pleased smile.

Yes, the Maia lacked practice, but there was enough to work with. Lucky for him, he had a good teacher.

Melkor couldn’t wait to start tutoring him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melkor is a strict teacher, and Mairon is a desperate student. Sounds good? Good. Also features blood magic, fancy magical jewelry, etc. If you recognize American Horror Story's Michael Langdon there in Mairon for a second - wave hi at him! But by all means, do NOT try to feed him French toast: it's still Mairon and he would absolutely chop your head off with his fangs. Be warned.

“Sing it again. This time add more lilt.”

Mairon always wondered how the otherwise tempestuous Melkor could be such a patient teacher. They have been going like that for hours now and he didn't seem to tire one bit.

The nervous wreck that was once Mairon Sang.

“Good, now weave it into your movement...And turn!”

Mairon obeyed, yet again, only to see his master's face fill with disappointment.

“Listen, and look carefully at the movement. It goes like this:"

Oh no.

Mairon plunged his nails into his palms. This time he would hold it together. He won't beg. There were just so many times a Maia could put himself to shame.

He ground his teeth when Song welled up around him, tempting, mesmerizing, penetrating his head and pushing all his cravings to a maximum. He shut his already feverish eyes tight, but was granted no reprieve.

“Stop this nonsense immediately. You must watch me in order to learn!"

Blazing eyes slammed open, fixing on Melkor’s form: the Vala’s soul swirled, hunting down and binding everything – Matter, light – and then pulling it towards his body. Mairon had seen black holes during the eons of Eä’s building. They were nothing compared to what was happening to him now. A moan escaped him.

( _No, no, not again, get a hold of yourself you stupid worthless –_ )

“Please, Master." his damn lips opened on their own accord, releasing words he never wanted to hear himself utter again. The same piteous tone. “Just once, my Lord. Please, just this one time…”

Melkor rolled his eyes. “Perhaps, if you ever show me some real improvement," he withdrew his magic, leaving Mairon to fall to the floor as if his strings were cut. He was too agitated, too hot, livid with shame both for having failed and for breaking down again. “We'll continue next time. Now you have to go oversee the foundry inspection."

This vicious cycle of lust and defeat circled round and round for weeks now, maybe months. Melkor would call for him between his other tasks to teach him the art of seduction. Or at least, that's what he called it. Mairon, who also occupied the role of Utumno’s Chief Torturer, called it what it was. He began to secretly dread the sight of Melkor’s study door. He couldn’t be around his Vala anymore without his fána getting all worked up and embarrassing him in front of the troops. That terrible feeling entered his dreams, too, filling his nights with hot, wet nightmares. He tried masturbating. It only made him feel worse. There were other emotions surrounding the sexual attraction, ones Mairon could not identify. And they _screamed_ for Melkor.

It couldn’t go on like that. He had to do something to make it all go away. Passing in the center of the foundry between rows of crucibles and hellish furnaces, reviewing the stocks of ores and tools - an idea began forming in his mind. He had a plan.

 

Mairon knelt before the throne. He produced something from his sleeve. Melkor took it and whistled softly.

It was a pair of bracelets made of pure, bright gold. Each was made in the likeness of a nest of snakes, coiling round and round the wearer’s arm. A gem was set in the midst of each cuff: a large garnet, blood-dark and glittering. They whispered, just at the edge of hearing. Their voices were sweet.

“Garnets for enticing, snakes for beguiling, gold for binding,” Mairon said. “They were polished with diamond dust tempered in violence to cut the mind and weaken any opposition.”

“Yes, I can see,” Melkor practically mewled with delight. “You weaved the Song I taught you into metal instead of flesh. Good call. Fine craftsmanship, too.”

The cuffs slipped onto Melkor’s wrists as if slicked with oil. A thin chain, made entirely of light, sprung between the cuffs and strung them together. The snakes seemed to dance in the magical glow, grinding slowly against Melkor’s flesh. Mairon’s throat went dry.

“Do they please, Master?” he managed to whisper. “Is this ‘real improvement’?”

Melkor seemed enchanted. He turned his hands, holding them against the light to admire the gold, and then gazed deeper and deeper into one of the stones. His lips parted and he moistened them with the tip of his tongue. Mairon bit into his own lips. Hard.

And then Melkor yanked his arms apart, tearing the chain. The light went out.

“No,” he said, dropping the bracelets back into Mairon’s lap. “Make it stronger. Every creature with half a working brain could escape it.”

Again, that punch in the gut. That wrenching feeling tearing him in half. Mairon had to take a moment to collect his features into a presentable mask. He excused himself and disappeared from the throne room as quickly as he could.

 

The foundry was vacant. Mairon made sure of that when he stormed into the hall and barked everyone out. All the workers and servants fled. Even when the Lord Lieutenant was in a good mood no one dared to disobey him, but when he was cross he was absolutely terrifying.

So now he stood at a worktable, bare hands lifted in the hazy air. His fána was heat resistant, as is befitting a forge-spirit, and Mairon loved the precision coming from working with his sensitive fingertips. His arms had long gashes in them, still dripping blood down his naked, well-muscled chest – blood was particularly potent for the kind of spell he was going for. His splayed fingers tapped into the Music of Creation, turning and twisting to wrap it thickly about every digit. Chanting, he tugged and let the Music and the blood flow into a pot which held liquid gold. The gold simmered and changed color to a deep purple. Mairon stirred it and it returned to its normal color, but a tint remained on the pot: a trained eye would notice that something about the gold was wrong. Beautiful, but wrong. He poured the gold slowly into a ring mold, watching it glow as it evened out.

He was so preoccupied with his handiwork that he didn’t even notice the beast that crept up behind him. When he finally did, he froze. Releasing a deep breath, he turned to face it.

“I felt you Sing," said Melkor conversationally. "What are you up to?"

Caught like that between molten metal and his Lord’s towering form, Mairon felt a chill running down his spine.

"Just doing as you commanded, my Lord. I am improving the device I made before.”

“So quickly?” Melkor sneered. “You must truly be desperate.”

Mairon did not answer, only inclined his head a little. What could he possibly say?

But Melkor didn’t seem to be expecting an answer. He moved past Mairon to look at the cooling gold. "I see that you decided on a much simpler design this time.”

“It's stronger this way, I believe. The much smaller size and plainness make it less distracting and easier to forget. The smoothness of the surface is a clean parchment for the wearer to write their own lusts upon. Worn this way, the ring would slip unnoticed into the wearer’s mind and would be much more difficult to struggle against.”

Melkor looked skeptical. “I will test it,” he said. “When will it be ready?”

“Everything is in place except the polishing, but it's still hot. It would take a few hours to cool off, unless my Lord would prefer…?”

Melkor nodded. He leaned past his Lieutenant, making Mairon tremble as velvet caressed skin.  He blew on the mold. A frosty mist curled from his lips and the gold cooled off immediately. Mairon broke it out and began polishing it. His fingers moved quickly: soon the gold gleamed.

Mairon bowed, offering the ring on his open palm. But this time Melkor did not take it.

“Fascinating,” he said instead. He ran his finger around the rim of the ring and then dipped its tip in to touch Mairon’s hand. “Yes, this time it’s much more powerful, and you didn’t even have to add copper to achieve it. I can feel it try to snag my mind and alter my actions, but it’s soft, unobtrusive. It would draw no suspicion.” Melkor looked past the ring at Mairon’s bloody, sweaty torso, and then down. He ran his hand on the front of Mairon’s leather trousers and squeezed lightly.

“You’re hard.”

“Yes,” Mairon managed. “I am.“

“Ah.” The hand moved away. Mairon swallowed.

“Would you wear it, my Lord? To test it?”

If Mairon still had anyone to pray to, he’d do so now. But he was alone.

The response was as he feared. “No.”

“But – “

“No ‘buts’. I understand how you built it. No need to test it.” He turned towards the exit, a great shadow among the bright fires. Mairon ran after him, letting the ring clatter to the floor. He caught up with him by the open doors, only barely restraining himself from blocking the Lord’s path. That was _never_ a good idea.

“Please,” the lump in his throat almost rendered him speechless. “Don’t make me beg again.”

“Oh, but I like it when you beg. I intend to make you do so a quite a lot.” Winking, he moved past Mairon’s defeated form, and strode down the corridor. Suddenly he stopped and turned around.

“Are you going to make me wait all day?” he said, causing Mairon’s head to shoot up. “Come along.”

And Mairon came.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where they finally Does the Doesing. Yay! It also contains Rat and Vole, Lairenuriel’s two magnificent OCs, who are so damn good I came to regard them as canon. I hope I haven’t mangled them too much in this too humble (unfortunately) offering, but hey, you agreed to let me play with them. :-p Kisses to you! And all you lot: if u don’t know who Rat and Vole are get da hell out of here! – to read Lairenuriel’s stories. They’re extra fine.

…and Mairon came after him.

Melkor suddenly stopped and Mairon only barely avoided bumping into his broad back. He had to forcibly stop his fingers from continuing his body’s previous movement forwards. Bereft of touch, his fingers actually ached.

“Now,” said Melkor. “Where do I want to lose my virginity? Well, _almost_ virginity…” he frowned and then noticed Mairon’s shocked face and heightened color. “What?”

“So… was the ring good enough, after all?”

“I said there was no need to test it further, didn’t I? Don’t be daft. Focus. You wrote in your report that the Elves prefer to do it on the beds they sleep in. Do you have a bed, Mairon?”

Mairon took a deep, steadying breath. His fingers ached again. “No, my Lord.”

Mairon felt occasionally his fána’s pull towards rest and brief spells of unconsciousness. He even succumbed to it once, to see what it was like. He found that it was not something he might do on a regular basis – it was an awful waste of time. He’d rather rest standing up, gazing deeply into a whispering fire and meditating. Some of the Maiar back at Valinor stared like that at their Valar for comfort. Mairon longed to do that also, but it was too dangerous with Melkor. The Lord of Light sometimes interpreted things… not wrong, of course, he could never be wrong! But still not exactly as one intended. And so a mind’s slumber might turn into something far less desirable. Better to stare at flames, for in them he could also conjure images, and some of them…

“Neither do I. Where else do they do it?”

“Sometimes they lie under the stars, Master, or in the shadows of great trees.”

“Stars! Trees! Yes, that’s exactly what I need: these two bitches hovering above me and spoiling my fun. No. We’ll go someplace else.” Melkor shuffled a little, thinking. Then his face brightened up. He snapped his fingers, motioning for Mairon to follow him. Together they strode towards the Abyss.

Utumno was built spiraling around an immense pit: a bewilderingly vast thing, drilled in the very beginning of Arda by the Master’s hands alone. It was deeper than anything imaginable, so black that no light from above could penetrate it. It was guarded by spells and by the leviathans that swam in that inky air, crackling with electricity.

When the Ainur reached the brink of the Abyss, they jumped.

Old tales say that the throne hall was located in the nethermost region of the grand fortress of Utumno. It’s folly, of course. This kind of shallow thinking is exactly what later led the attacking Valar to fail in their mission of uprooting Melkor’s evil works. No. The darkness at the foot of the Abyss stretched far below the glamour and elegance of the Great Hall, and it belonged solely to the Vala. It was filled with tunnels and caves in which he walked, workshops and shrines where miracles happened every day.

( _At the very bottom of the fortress there was a Temple. Melkor only ever found courage in his heart to visit it once, and, filled with secret shame and pain, never returned or brought anyone else there._ )  

It was through these tunnels and caverns that Melkor now led Mairon towards a pair of great stone doors. The Maia could feel energy buzzing on the other side of the heavy slabs, and when they opened for Melkor, he saw why.

It was a large, circular room with a gem-set stone floor and a very high ceiling. The vibrations Mairon felt came from various tools and implements that filled it top to bottom – a chaotic disarray, it seemed, but Mairon knew his Lord better. Light from floating lightning-balls flashed silvery-purple on several cages containing the Master’s latest experiments – the huddled shapes of the Elves Mairon brought back, their design modified and improved. Mairon walked over to them and inspected them in awe: they looked so much stronger and more functional now, with phosphorescent eyes and long, curved tusks that could bite through armor. One of them growled. Another banged its head against the cage bars. The others were silent, their faces vacant.

Gone was the insolent rabble that dared to challenge his master. The beasts in the cages were abject slaves. Mairon felt a warm delight seeping through his body.

“I should have known you’d forget all about me the second I let you into my lab.”

Mairon turned back, ashamed, but Melkor was smiling. Beneath his feet a sigil was carved into the floor: a five-pointed star, its lines crossing and re-crossing, locked within a circle of runes. The flagstones were dark there, smeared with dried blood – it seemed that the Master had worked hard rebuilding his new pets. Mairon’s arousal, which was pushed aside by a flare of curiosity when he entered the lab, filled his body again like black, bubbling mud. His feet carried him to Melkor as if of their own accord, but his mind was just clear enough to stop him at a respectable distance. Melkor sneered and pulled him against him, into the star.

The second Mairon entered the sigil, he could feel power surge to envelope him and remove him from the rest of the room. But then again, it might have been the proximity to Melkor’s body which made his soul swoon. The Vala had an incredibly strong presence. He gazed up at him, hitched breath slowly releasing through soft, parted lips. In all the eons of his existence, he’d never seen anything half as beautiful as he was.

“Now, my Maia, show me what you said you could do.”

“Everything?”

“Everything. For starters, kiss me like you did back then.”

And Mairon did.

The next moments were frenzied. Lips crushed against lips. The beating of hearts mingled with the sound of panting breath. Mairon’s hands streamed into Melkor’s hair and suddenly the whole world turned pitch black.

Mairon found himself on the floor, lying underneath his master in a heap of partially removed clothing and overheated skin. Melkor was kissing his jaw and neck. He was warm, much warmer than Mairon expected given his usual frosty countenance. His velvety tongue sent darts of need that blazed throughout his fána and then run straight to his groin. Intuitively, he ran glowing fingertips on Melkor’s skin. He could sense currents inside him. He tapped into the currents and found that he could move them around like he did with veins of ore in deep rock. Melkor stopped kissing him and risen to lean over him, curious as to what he might do. Mairon moved his fingers slowly, dragging the currents from his neck to his chest and across the flat of his stomach, all the way down to where skin turned to velvet. His instinct was correct: his master hardened underneath his fingers, letting out a little sigh.

The Vala was hard… for _him_?

Dizzy with excitement, Mairon let his fingers roll the currents of desire through velvet and skin, exploring. The Master was thick, heavy, and very, very sensitive. Mairon was taken aback when Melkor suddenly caught his wrist, almost crushing it in a spasm, but then his hand was guided under Melkor’s garment to touch naked flesh.

Mairon closed his fist around his master’s shaft and slowly drew lust and heat from its base all the way to the tip. He was rewarded by a moan that made blood pound in his ears. _Pleasure_ , his mind wailed. _He was giving the Vala pleasure_.

He didn’t hear the sturdy leather of his work trousers tear as though it were thin paper in those big, strong hands. He didn’t notice leather and velvet being cast away together, far from eye and mind. He did not even notice the chill air that lifted goosebumps on his skin, an Incarnate response his fána tended to display despite all his efforts to subdue it. All he could feel was that his Lord was touching him, _really_ touching him this time. Their bodies flown together and rutted against each other, skin to skin. Something was building between them. Waves roared, sped towards the shore, overflowed –

The pain was ghastly. Mairon cried out, stopped, and found himself shaking on the cold floor, his member pinched hard between the Vala’s finger and thumb. The waves subsided. His Lord seemed displeased.

“No! Bad Maia.” said Melkor sternly, shaking a finger in Mairon’s face. “I told you I was going to make you beg. Do you know nothing of the art of torture? I’m going to drag it out, make it last. I’m going to take everything you have and then some.”

“I want to give, my Lord.” Mairon whispered miserably. “I want you so much.”

“You better.” Melkor’s hands did not stop touching him despite his harsh words, hot, teasing. “Now, what are your weakest spots…?”

His fingers found one of Mairon’s nipples and flicked over it. Mairon squirmed. Melkor laughed and lowered his head to lick at the hardening nub. Then his teeth joined in. Mairon’s hips jerked, earning him a quick touch against his master’s body that sent a spark of pleasure deep into him. Melkor noticed and his nails morphed into razor-like claws. He rested his hand lightly on Mairon’s belly. One claw pressed in, breaking skin and drawing blood. Mairon lay still, helpless: Melkor could easily disembowel him, tear out his throat, flay him into mere ribbons… the thought was exhilarating.

“Oh, I see. You like pain, don’t you?” Another claw stabbed into his belly, deeper this time, and twisted. Mairon whimpered. “How lucky for you. I enjoy giving pain.” He lowered his head to lick the blood off of him. His claws retracted into his flesh as he licked lower, and lower, and lower still. Mairon’s labored breath stopped altogether, then released into a shrill wail. “Here’s another thing you like, apparently. Mmm, you taste so good…”

Mairon needed to grab onto something, anything, and squeeze until his knuckles turned white. There was nothing to grab except Melkor himself, and the last shards of his reverence and self-preservation forbade him from disrespecting a Vala so. His fists worked futilely, opening and closing on empty air. It was too much, almost too much. His Maiarin nature screamed that he needed to serve, to slave away for him. He needed to satisfy his Lord Vala right now. 

“Let me do this to you,” he croaked. “It’s so good. Let me suck you.” He imagined himself taking his Lord into his mouth, tasting him as his hot girth slid along his tongue and widened his throat. He could almost feel those sweet, subterranean energy currents begin to lap against his lips, his testicles becoming heavier in his fingers as his master pumped himself into him harder and faster and deeper and –

“That’s not what I want.”

Mairon would have groaned if he dared. Must the Lord always be this obstinate? But now Melkor seemed to… hesitate, as if unsure what to do next. His eyes fastened on Mairon’s lips. He thought he was going to kiss him again, but then his gaze traveled down the sweat-glistening length of his body. His hands tightened around Mairon’s hips and pulled him against him. Growling hungrily, he impaled him with a single thrust.

Mairon shrieked. The creatures in the cages screamed and wept at the terrible sound, covering their ears and huddling in the corner. The fána Mairon wore was not a hröa, it was sturdy and durable. It could take a lot, be it the exertions of the forge or the cruel games the Maiar played with each other as Arda’s crust solidified into rock. And still it hurt so much, as it would never have hurt if it were anyone else but Melkor. He was stretched beyond his capacity, wounded, almost torn in half. His insides burned as he fumbled to adjust his fána to be able to take that, too. Flexibility, the thought zigzagged through his head. Moisture to slick. And all the while Melkor was close, face to face, kissing and drinking in his pain as he thrust into him again and again…

Mairon loved it.

Mairon began rocking against Melkor, countering his motions perfectly. His mind’s eye could see a thrill boil through the Vala and he reached for it with his senses. A little nudge and pull, and he found that he could move the currents inside Melkor with his whole body, not just his fingers. As before, the currents leapt into his touch with ease that surprised his half-stunned mind. Could it really be that the Lord Vala wanted him that much? A shattered breath confirmed this. He moved with a doubled zest, using both his fána and eala to work his god into a frenzy. It worked. Melkor moaned, throaty and ragged,

( _never heard anything more magnificent not since the Music…_ )

and Mairon was flipped over.

The currents in Melkor’s body reached back suddenly across the bond between them. Pleasure slammed into Mairon’s body. Hot. Hard. It was only a matter of time until the Vala took back the reins – and now he held Mairon with an iron fist. Mairon didn’t feel his mouth open, didn’t know what came flowing out of it: pleas, secrets, confessions he never meant to make? None of it mattered anymore. All he knew was that he was invaded, choked, that he lost control of his fána and that it obeyed another in his stead.

He felt like a Maia, and his spirit Sang.

Melkor caressed away red hair and bent to whisper something into his ear, something which made Mairon scream and burst into flames. The grooved lines of the sigil caught fire before the Maia’s smoldering eyes, dying the hall in amethyst and orange tones. The severe, uptight Mairon came undone. He could hear Melkor laugh amid the flames as he convulsed around him again and again in sweet pulses of pleasure. There was some pain in his temples and neck as his hair was pulled savagely, heightening the sensation. Then Melkor growled, almost deep enough to cause an earthquake, and came into his body, filling Mairon with searing liquid. Iron-vice fingers dug into his thigh, loosened, and were gone.

 _I made Master cum_ , a last thought flashed through his mind as his knees finally gave way, hurling him against stone. _I made Master cum_.

Melkor released his bruising hold on his servant as the last shock of pleasure melted into wonderful, satisfied warmth. So the heat he felt in his fána when Mairon was near was actually sexual attraction! At first he thought that it was just heat radiating from the fire-spirit, but he had other seraphs in his household and none of them had this effect on him. Now it all made sense. He looked fondly at the shaken Maia and pulled him into an embrace, cradling his head on his chest. He earned it, he thought. He was a very good Maia indeed.

Mairon lay still against him, staring at his soul as if mesmerized. His eyes were slowly glazing into sleep. Melkor caressed his cheek. He saw his siblings’ Maiar look at them like that occasionally, but none of his own Maiar ever did. He always wondered why and was a little jealous. It felt so nice now when Mairon finally did it. It was a perfect way to finish the perfect past hour: so calming, so soothing…

Alright, now it became boring.

Melkor shook Mairon by the shoulder, waking him up with a jolt.

“So,” he urged. “Is that all you can do?”

“What? No I… I can do more, better, I…” Mairon stammered. He hated when his voice sounded like that. It was humiliating, but the fear of disappointing his master and missing the opportunity he fantasized about for so long was excruciating. He strained his half-sleeping, exhausted mind. Yes, there it was.

“I’ve studied the subject, my Lord. And in my experiments I found that the oil of a certain plant, when mixed with copper extractions and some ground rubies, has a rather stimulating effect. It can intensify pleasure and make it last longer. I would try this preparation on you, Lord, if it pleases you.”

Melkor laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh. “I would have loved to see those experiments of yours. Very well, you may use it on me.”

“I’m afraid it’s still in my quarters, Master. I did not expect…”

Melkor shrugged one naked shoulder. “Send for it. I want to try.”

Mairon inserted two fingers into his mouth and gave a piercing, undulating whistle. The whistle went up, up into the ever-brightening air. Mere minutes later there was a scurry by the doors. Tiny shadows rose in a puff of black smoke, assuming the aspect of short, almost humanoid shapes. When facing the Superior Ainur, one bowed and the other curtsied.

“Vole! Bring the scarlet vial from my quarters. Do _not_ bring the crimson one. Rat, go after him and make sure he doesn’t bring the crimson one.”

Vole disappeared immediately. Rat, grinning horrendously, crept behind Melkor’s back to give Mairon the thumbs-up. Then she fled as fast as her short legs could carry her: she loved Lord Mairon dearly, but he, just like their fearsome master, sometimes took things the wrong way.

When the Vermin came back, Mairon was pleased to see that they indeed had the scarlet vial. But then Rat revealed something else she was carrying: a small wooden box, bound with strings of copper. How on earth did she find it?! Mairon was certain he hid it well enough behind a wall of warding spells. _And_ it was placed on a very, _very_ tall shelf. But still, the tiny spirit somehow managed to acquire it, meaning that she knew what it held and what it meant for Mairon. Mairon’s face assumed the color of the vial’s contents.

Melkor, of course, noticed right away. “What’s this?”

Mairon cursed the day he allowed those damn critters to serve him. “…things, my Lord?”

“Things.” Melkor repeated, sibilant and sensual, mocking. The box snapped open at his command. His fingers rummaged merrily through its contents, fishing out a lock of fuligin hair bound by a silken ribbon. Next came a string of golden beads. The beads chimed faintly as they clapped against each other.

“Oh, little Mairon, aren’t you full of surprises.”

Mairon forced himself to relax. Now was not the time for an artificial sense of modesty – Melkor wanted more, and more he was going to get. So Mairon smiled, slow and toothy.

“Why, yes, milord. What are you going to do about it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK OK YES, THEY ARE FUCKING IN A BURNING PENTAGRAM! YES, IT’S EXTRA. Yes, it’s over the top. It's pompous. But I’m not getting enough sleep, I’ve a full-time job, a (beautiful, wonderful, beloved) baby, and a ***VERY*** difficult mother-in-law to take care of. So yeah, I damn straight earned the rigHT TO HAVE MY TWO FAVORITE DARK LORDS FUCK IN A BURNING PENTAGRAM!!! YOU WANNA FIGHT??? Please don’t, I’m a known coward. Good night.
> 
> (the golden beads, by the way, are a wink and nudge towards Lairenuriel's [At Hand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5268599) which is a sexy and fine story)


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